


birdhouse

by okayantigone



Series: birdhouse - Perfect Court AU [3]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Angst, Gen, M/M, Perfect Court, Strangers Meeting as Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 10:35:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11355711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okayantigone/pseuds/okayantigone
Summary: Andrew takes the Ravens contract, meets Nathaniel Wesninski and immediately regrets everything.





	birdhouse

Andrew signs himself away to the Ravens when Riko Moriyama tells him he can make the charges go away, make the medication go away. Andrew signs himself to the Ravens in exchange for sobriety, because he wants it so bad, he could choke on it, and if Riko doesn’t keep his word, Andrew will make him regret it, will make him –

“I’m not getting a tattoo,” he says, smiling, even though he doesn’t feel it.

Riko arches an eyebrow. “What ever makes you think you even deserve one?”

Behind him Kevin Day bristles. Number 3 gives him a sour smile, that Andrew wants to scrape off his face.

Andrew recognizes reverse psychology when he sees it.

“We’ll see you in September,” Riko says.

Kevin turns around and follows him without a second glance in Andrew’s direction. Andrew thinks this is just as well. He can’t look at the face of someone who has agreed to spend his life as a second.

Number three stays though, rocking back and forth on his heels, hands shoved inhis coat pockets. His eyes are on Andrew, hard and calculating, until Riko calls his name.

Then he follows behind, albeit slower.

“I’m coming,” he drawls. “Already on my way.”

But he makes no effort to actually catch up to Riko and Kevin’s longer strides.

Andrew keeps that ironic little smile in mind when he arrives at Edgar Allan a month before the start of the season.

Nicky had gone back to Erik in Germany, and Aaron – Aaron hadn’t wanted to extend their deal. That was fine by Andrew. Fine like a knife’s edge.

He thought he would descend the stairs to the Nest and never look back. Nicky had said he was proud of him. Andrew had told him to fuck off.

Number four greets him at the bottom of the stairs. He looks sullen and furious, and beneath that, he looks crushed.

“Take a look at the sky. You won’t be seeing it for a while.” he says coldly.

Andrew doesn’t care. He counts the stairs. No high places here. No fear.

He follows number four towards the dorm rooms.

“From this point on – you will never be on your own. Better savor it.”

But Andrew ignores him, because on his own or not, none of this matters. He shuts the door in his broken face.

The half of the room that is already occupied looks cramped and lived in. There’s lights taped to the shelves, which are overflowing with books, and schoolwork, haphazardly organized in piles, amidst exy magazines, and a mug that serves as a pencil holder, but also holds three knives.

Andrew starts putting his things away in neat piles. His fingers itch to straighten out the printed sheets on the desk.

“Oh, they didn’t tell me you were here already,”

Andrew has a knife in his hand before he can think about it, turning around so sharply he gives himself whiplash.

Number three is in the doorway, in gym clothes, hands shoved in his sweatpants pockets, smiling insolently.

“You get that sharp thing out of my face, or it’s gonna end up in your eye,” he says humorously. His smile is all teeth.

“Yeah? Make me.” Andrew doesn’t like being startled. This guy moves quiet.

He watches as he very slowly raises a hand, and presses a finger to the tip of the knife, pointing it down to the floor. Blood blossoms on his hand. He brings it to his lips and licks it nonchalantly.

“You better not pull one of those things out on me again unless you know how to use it, and plan on doing so” he says conversationally. “Because if you do – I’m going to cut you,” he gestures at the knives in the pen holder. “But this got very ugly,” he says dismissive of the whole situation. “Let’s start again, with introductions.”

“I know who you are,” Andrew said, acerbically.

Number three pretended like he hadn’t heard. “Nathaniel Wesninski. But most people call me Neil. The other name’s a bit of a mouthful. And Riko calls me whatever the fuck he likes.” he smiles humorlessly. “What do I call you, Andrew?”

Andrew raises an eyebrow.

“You answered your own question just now, didn’t you?”

“Well, you’re not going to be any fun,” Nathaniel-Neil says. “And to think I specifically asked Riko to let me switch partners, so I can make friends with you. Jean wasn’t happy with that. He had to move rooms and all. But you and I – we will be very close over the next five years.”

“Will we.”

“Oh, no, none of that – we’re Ravens. It’s just that – we will never be in different rooms. So you better not put a high value on privacy –“

He’s turned his back to Andrew, and he peels his shirt off. His back is a mess of scars. There’s what Andrew recognizes very distinctly as the print of an iron.

He rummages in the closet for another shirt, and tugs it on over his head.

He isn’t smiling when he turns around.

Andrew looks at him impassively, arms crossed over his chest.

“Well, well. If that doesn’t move you, I guess you might make a Raven out of you yet.”

“Those ouchies look very old,” Andrew says finally.

“Oh, they are. Here, you learn your lessons fast. Or you don’t.”

“And did you?” Andrew asks.

Neil’s smile returns, fierce. “Absolutely not.” he says cheerfully. “But Riko puts up with me anyway.”

Somehow Andrew struggles to imagine anyone putting up with Neil at all.

“Get ready for practice. The court is where we’ll see what you’re made of.”

Andrew takes Neil for his word on that, and starts undressing. Neil doesn’t even pretend he’s not staring.

“You look like you bench more than me,” he says finally. He says nothing about his scars. Andrew isn’t sure if it’s tact – because Neil doesn’t seem at all tactful, or if he simply doesn’t care.

“I probably do,” Andrew says sardonically. For a backliner, Neil isn’t especially massive. He’s lean, though Andrew doesn’t let it fool him. He’s got a tattoo. So he’s worth something. He’d seen him bodycheck players twice his size on the court, so hard they’d needed substitutes.

Neil turns around, rummaging through the clutter on his desk while Andrew finishes changing. He waves a practice schedule in front of him. It’s already been scribbled on all over, with arrows and asterisks that indicate changes in practice times, and meetings. It has more filled up spaces than blanks for breaks.

“Keep this. I’ll get a new one for myself.”

Andrew pins the sheet to the empty cork board above his desk.

Neil is smiling at him, which he begins to suspect is his default expression in much the same way that Moraeu’s is perpetual bleakness.

There’s a slot scribbled in red pen KNIFE PRACTICE W. RIKO that indicates to just about ten minutes before Neil brought his smile into the room.

Neil watches him read through it. His handwriting is atrocious. There’s nonsensical notes in the margins, and a few lines in French, and what Andrew assumes to be Japanese.

“I feel like you’re grading me on my organization skills,” Neil complains.

“You already failed,” Andrew nods at his desk.

Neil smiles conspiratively. “Kevin and Riko are the two neatest people you’ll ever meet. They don’t like coming in here. I keep it messy, it keeps them out. You’ll learn all about it. Better not have any major OCD tendencies.” 

Andrew regards the messy half of the room again.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says.

“Good. Because you don’t want Kevin and Riko in this room. Or, well. I don’t.” he shrugs. “But something tells me you won’t either. I’ve read your file.”

“You’ve what –“

“How do you think we got it cleared out?” Neil asks. “I’m keeping what I read to myself though. And I suggest you do too.”

“I’m not one for sharing.” Andrew says coldly. There’s enough things on his file. Not a lot. But enough.

“Good. Don’t ever give Riko anything on you. I mean that. And don’t ever let him think there is anything for you to give either.”

Andrew tilts his head to the side, studying Neil.

“I’m not afraid of him.”

Neil’s smile is slow to appear. “I wasn’t,” he agrees. “But you learn to be. He teaches you.”

“I’ve always been a bad student.”

Neil’s smile is wide and horrible. Andrew wants it gone.

Neil reaches into the pencil-holder and pulls out a knife. He hands it to Andrew handle first.

“I know you have your own. Consider this a welcome gift.”

Andrew wraps his fingers around the handle.

“How touching. I might cry.”

“You might,” Neil agrees. “But not because of me. Ask Jean, he’ll tell you.”

Andrew regards the knife carefully, weighs it in his hand.

“Won’t you need it?”

Neil shrugs. “I’ll write my mother to send me a care package,” he says, voice carefully articulate so its carelessness matches his smile.

“How sweet.”

“She isn’t,” Neil reassures.

“Clearly. She raised you.”

“Well. No,” Neil tilts his head. “She didn’t. I am,” he makes air quotes with his hands, “my father’s son.”

Andrew waits for him to elaborate. He doesn’t. Andrew in turn, doesn’t care.

Neil takes that as cue for another infuriating smile. “We’re supposed to get to the changing rooms now. Riko is waiting.”

“Is he?” Andrew asks. “I’m not unpacked yet,” he gestures to his perfectly organized half of the room. “Let’s keep him waiting.”

He thinks Neil’s smile might have morphed into something real for a second

“Oh, Andrew. You may survive us yet.”

**Author's Note:**

> I want to thank you all for the interest in this fic! It's incredibly flattering, and I am floored by all your comments and kudos and bookmarks. However, please respect that this is story is marked as a one-shot, was written as a one-shot and will REMAIN a one-shot, and while I really love your comments and am immensely grateful for them, I find it incredibly disrespectful that you're insinuating this isn't somehow "a full fic" or in any way incomplete.   
> I might continue it - or I might not. There are other installments in this verse. In the meantime, my only current work in progress remains "funeral lights".


End file.
